


the other side of a world without you

by pro_daydreamer



Category: The AM Archives (Podcast), The Bright Sessions (Podcast), The College Tapes (Podcast)
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Crying, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, oliver forgets mark, they're parents
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:53:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27830014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pro_daydreamer/pseuds/pro_daydreamer
Summary: “Oliver do you really not remember me at all?” Mark manages to ask, dreading the answer.“Am I supposed to?”It’s strange, how quickly Mark’s world can come crumbling down around him.After so long working to rebuild, so long healing and slowly pulling himself back together, he could be broken apart by four words.A household accident leaves Oliver with no memory of Mark and they're left to deal with the consequences.Featuring the children that the discord gave Brytz: Ben and TobiasAlso, cw for traumatic head injury and talk of blood and hospitalsTitle is from The Other Side by Ruelle (thanks Oliver)
Relationships: Joan Bright & Mark Bryant, Mark Bryant/Oliver Ritz
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	the other side of a world without you

**Author's Note:**

> thank you oliver and soph for all the encouragement, love you guys
> 
> chapter 1 title is from Who Are You by Aquilo

The way it starts is too simple. 

For something as big as this, as life-shattering as this, Mark thinks that the beginning is rather mundane. A tragedy should begin with a car crash, an explosion, a dramatic fall. 

Instead, it happens when Oliver slips up and cracks his head on the floorboards of their house while decorating. The bucket of red paint in his hand spills all over the floor and Mark is terrified when he first sees Oliver lying there in a pool of burgundy. The image is still there in his mind now and even though he knows in his mind that it’s only paint, he can’t dismiss the feeling that he is seeing Oliver in a pool of his own blood.

When he took Oliver to the AM, shaking the whole way, Mark knew that something was wrong. 

When Joan held his hand in the waiting room, Mark knew that something was wrong.

And when the doctor came out with a blank expression, Mark knew something was wrong.

“We won’t know the full extent of the damage until he wakes up,” they said and Mark had clutched Joan’s hand so tight that both of their knuckles went white. 

Now Joan has left him alone with Oliver. Mark’s still not entirely comfortable with being in the AM, but with Oliver’s hand in his, Mark can breathe.

When they told him the outcomes of Oliver’s treatment, the doctors mentioned that it might take any time between a few days to a few weeks for him to properly wake up, so Mark knows he could sleep right now. However, he can’t help but watch for any sign of movement, any sign that Oliver is awake in there somewhere. He thinks maybe that Oliver’s hand is squeezing his own but he knows that it’s likely only his imagination. Oliver is unconscious, not aware of his surroundings, why would he be squeezing Mark’s hand?

The room is sterile and too bright as Mark looks around it. They gave him a blanket and a pillow when he asked to stay the night but the fabric smells like bleach and it’s scratchy against his skin so he leaves them on the chair and crawls into the bed beside Oliver, careful not to jostle him too much.

Mark curls around him, laying his head over Oliver’s heart, letting himself count the slow beats as he does after waking from a nightmare. It’s like a lullaby, gently bringing him down into sleep. He feels warm, safe, more than he has ever felt safe in the AM before and he feels the icy shard of worry in his heart beginning to melt a little as he drifts off into sleep.

The next few days pass in a blur, Mark moves between the hospital and the house, letting Joan take care of the kids so he can stay by Oliver’s side. Ben calls now and then, checking in and asking how Oliver is. Mark tries to keep them calm, he’s hopeful, he says. Everything should be fine.

Passing days by reading next to Oliver’s bed and curling up in the considerably softer blanket that Ben brought from home is easier than Mark was expecting. It becomes routine, stopping home every now and then to check on Ben and Tobias before heading back in to wait by Oliver’s side.

Exactly a week has passed when Oliver does begin to stir. It starts with a twitch of his hand, the slight movement of the corner of his mouth. Mark’s heart races the whole time, so fast that he’s scared he might pass out but he’s so utterly  _ thankful  _ that Oliver is waking up that he doesn’t care.

Oliver’s eyes are hazy and unfocussed when he comes to and Mark is sitting on the edge of his bed, trying his best not to lean in too far, not to smother him.

“How are you doing?” he asks as Oliver begins to regain a sense of his surroundings, looking around the room with confusion.

“What the fuck is going on?” Oliver asks, voice croaky but edged with defensiveness.

“You hit your head and now you’re in the AM. They’ve been treating you,” Mark explains, reaching out to take Oliver’s hand in his. 

Oliver flinches away and Mark freezes.

“Thanks for telling me I’m still in the AM like I didn’t already know that,” Oliver scoffs. “You’re sure full of enlightening answers. I bet you’re a fantastic doctor.”

Mark pauses for a few seconds, hoping that this isn't real. Hoping it isn’t true.

“I’m not your doctor, Oliver. It’s me, it’s Mark.” 

“I don’t know anyone called Mark,” Oliver says and Mark’s heart feels like a punctured balloon, deflating rapidly and collapsing in on itself.

“We—” Mark can’t speak, can’t form a sentence around the lump in his throat. He feels like he might choke.

“I don’t know what you’re doing here but I’d rather you leave me alone,” Oliver says, shifting as far away from Mark as he can on the mattress. Mark feels the distance between them like it’s miles and not inches.

“Oliver do you really not remember me at all?” Mark manages to ask, dreading the answer.

“Am I supposed to?”

It’s strange, how quickly Mark’s world can come crumbling down around him. 

After so long working to rebuild, so long healing and slowly pulling himself back together, he could be broken apart by four words. 

Joan takes Mark away eventually. Oliver drifted back out of consciousness not too long after fracturing Mark into a million pieces. It took a while for Mark to even move after that, refusing to believe that any of what he just experienced was real until Joan touches his shoulder and pulls him gently off the bed. 

He doesn’t notice them making their way towards Joan’s car until she is slowly pushing him down into the passenger seat.

“I need to go home to take care of Tobias,” Mark says as she takes her seat behind the wheel. “Ben’s been doing it too much lately. I need to be there for both of them.”

“You can’t go home like this, Mark,” Joan tells him gently. “I’ve already called Ben and they can handle tonight. They have my number if they need it.”

“Joan, they’re just a kid. I need to be there for them.”

“How do you think you can be there for them when you’re like this?” Joan asks, pressing a hand against his cheek. He feels tears welling in his eyes as she does so and moves his face away to stare out of the window.

“I’m their dad. I have a responsibility—”

“You need to take care of yourself too, Mark,” Joan cuts in. “You’re going through something extremely difficult right now and you can’t just try and push on through life like everything is fine!”

“I need you to be my sister, not my therapist, Joanie.”

Joan closes her mouth in a thin line and stares ahead into the AM parking lot.

“Well then, as your sister, I’m taking you back to my place for the night,” she tells him. “Ben can handle themself and Tobias right now. For today, I’m far more concerned about you.”

“Joan, I’ll be fine. Just take me home.”

“Your fiancé just woke up from a coma and didn’t remember you. No one would be ‘fine’ after that.”

“Well, I’ll deal with it!” Mark bursts out and Joan bites her lip as she looks at him.

“Mark—”

“I can... I can cope with this, Joan,” he says. “I’ve coped with worse. Much worse.”

“I know you have, but you have to take care of yourself.”

Joan starts the car engine and looks over at Mark one last time.

“You’re staying at my place tonight. I don’t want you to fall apart on your own with the children.”

“Ok,” Mark sighs. “For tonight.”

Joan’s shoulders relax and she slowly pulls out of the parking space.

The drive is full of familiar buildings that now look like he’s viewing them through cloudy glass. He tries to convince himself that maybe he’s dreaming. After all, his nightmares can be quite elaborate and it’s possible that this is just one huge situation made up by his anxiety-ridden brain. 

As time goes on, he becomes more and more aware that this must be real. He can feel the stiff seat below him, the cold rush of the air conditioning against his face, the jolts as the car hits small bumps in the road. This isn’t a nightmare.

Joan turns the radio off but Mark flips it back on, switching between songs and genres, unable to settle on anything. What music fits the mood for when your fiancé wakes up from a coma and has no idea who you are. 

He switches the radio off again.

“He thought I was an AM doctor,” Mark says and Joan winces.

“I’m sorry, Mark.”

“The way he looked at me...”

Joan reaches one hand over to quickly squeeze his hand before settling it back on the steering wheel.

“I talked to Dr Thirteen and she said she’s hopeful that he could recover fully.”

“What if he never remembers?” Mark asks. Joan takes a deep breath.

“I don’t know, Mark. I don’t think we should be thinking the worst right now. It’s still so early, it’s hard to figure out the extent of brain injuries like this until a proper investigation is done.”

“Joan, what if I have to explain to the kids that their father doesn’t know who they are?” Mark whispers and Joan glances over at him. Her eyes are watering but she’s clearing trying to swallow back her tears as she focuses on the road ahead of her.

“Did you tell them that he woke up?” she asks him, clearing her throat.

“I was going to surprise them by bringing them in to visit him,” Mark says and Joan’s hands tighten on the steering wheel. “You didn’t tell them, did you?”

“No, I didn’t want to take that news away from you if you hadn’t already told them.”

“I’m not going to,” Mark says and Joan bites her lip, a little disapproving, but nods.

“They’ll need to know at some point,” she says.

“Not yet, though.”

“They need to hear it from you when they do.”

Mark stares ahead.

Joan pulls into her driveway and Mark readies himself to step out of the car. Instead of getting out, Joan waits with him, drumming her fingers on her knee and looking over at him every now and then.

“Mark?” she says when the silence has stretched on for far too long. He takes a sharp breath in and pushes the door open. 

If he can get to her door then he will be fine. 

One foot in front of the other. 

His sister’s house is nice. Rather plain, but nice. For once he’s thankful for that. Joan unlocks the door and pushes inside, dropping her bag and coat in the hallway before taking Mark to the couch and wrapping a blanket around his shoulders.

“Do you want a drink or anything? I have tea.”

“I’m fine, thanks.”

Mark sits down heavily, his limbs too tired for anything else. He’s exhausted, wanting this day to be over, wanting this whole fucking thing to be over. There’s nothing he wants more than to go back to how it was before the accident but he knows that life is gone forever. Even if Oliver regains his memory, it won’t ever be the same again. That life has slipped from his fingers.

Joan sets a mug on the table, snapping Mark out of his thoughts. 

“You can sleep in my bed if you want,” she says, settling down beside him.

“I’m fine here.”

“You’re sleeping in my bed,” Joan decides. “I’ll take the couch tonight.”

“Fine, If you want me to,” Mark relents. He doesn’t have it in him to fight her at the moment. Words die in his throat.

Joan wraps her arms around his shoulders, leaning her head against his. It’s a gentle weight, grounding him here, keeping him in this place and not back staring at the white walls of Oliver’s room.

Time passes slowly, neither of them moving until Mark slowly extracts himself to head towards Joan’s bedroom. He prepares to sleep on autopilot, barely thinking as he brushes his teeth. 

In the mirror, he can see Joan watching him. 

“Mark, do you want to talk?” she asks hesitantly, wringing her hands in front of her.

“What is there to say?” he mutters. “He doesn’t remember me, he might never remember me.”

His eyes are stinging, his face hot and irritated. Mark is very aware that he’s about to cry but he tries to swallow back the tears, clenching his hands tightly into fists to distract from the pain in his heart.

“What happens if he never remembers me, Joan?” Mark asks.”What do I do then? Do I just try to move on? Forget about him too?”

The words choke in his throat and Joan rushes towards him as his tears begin to spill. She sits them both down on the edge of the bed and takes Mark’s hands in hers, trying to still their trembling.

“I couldn’t do that,” Mark continues. “I couldn’t just leave all that time I spent building a life with him, falling in love with him. We were supposed to be getting married this week!”

Mark looks at the silver ring on his finger, Joan following his gaze. He twists it around his finger, tracing over the grooves where the band is engraved.

“I think that was the happiest I’d ever been. When Oliver proposed to me.”

“I remember,” Joan smiles. “You couldn’t stop smiling for days.”

“It’s just — He wanted to marry me. I was going to be his  _ husband _ . I can’t have that future now, no matter how much I want it.”

“It’s too early to say that, Mark,” Joan tries to tell him but Mark shakes his head to stop her.

“He might never know who I am again,” Mark says in a small voice and the last line of defence against the overwhelming wave of hopelessness and despair comes falling down. 

He sobs in his sister’s arms, his breathing ragged and laboured as his lungs gasp for air. His heart has been ripped right out of his chest and he can feel the pain of that through his entire body. The salt from his tears sting his face, air rips through his throat, his own fingers claw at his skin as he tries so hard not to feel. He wishes he didn’t have to feel.

When Mark is finally able to breathe again he is lying on his side, staring at the wall with Joan’s arms wrapped around him. He feels like a kid again curled up beside his big sister. She strokes his hair in a soothing repetitive motion as he sobs into her pillow. 

“You’re going to be ok,” she murmurs and he almost believes her.


End file.
